


The one where all the titles are One Direction songs

by dunklenacht310, FromFanToStan



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Harry, Gay Sex, M/M, Meddling, Misunderstandings, Roommates, Slow Burn, Top Zayn, roommate au, zarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 07:11:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19102237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dunklenacht310/pseuds/dunklenacht310, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromFanToStan/pseuds/FromFanToStan
Summary: Zayn grunts and murmurs something Louis doesn’t catch, but Zayn’s grumpy attitude doesn’t deter Louis in the slightest. This is just too perfect, really. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, my friend!” Louis says, and looks at his own reflection in the mirror, laughing at his own sly smile. “I just so happen to have a perfect match for your broody persona.”-Zayn needs a roommate. Louis happens to know the perfect someone.Zayn and Harry don't understand why they always look at each other. They're straight, aren't they?





	The one where all the titles are One Direction songs

**Author's Note:**

> Usual disclaimer: we don't know or own any of the characters present in this work.

 

 

**Little Things**

Louis is hungover as fuck when he wakes up at the insistent buzzing of his phone.

He briefly meditates just not answering, but when he sees the name of the person who’s calling, he can’t help but grin and sit up, fighting the pounding in his head to answer.

“Zayn Malik, fire of my loins, my better half,” he declares once the call is opened.

He doesn’t really know Zayn, if he’s honest. They had a couple classes together when they were in uni, and they’ve gone out with the other lads a couple times. But Zayn is inherently shy, and Louis hasn’t had time to properly sweep him off his feet and be included in Zayn’s – surely very exclusive – circle of friendships.

Zayn clears his throat from the other side of the call. “Um, yeah, hi, Louis,” he says, and then stops.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Care to tell me why you woke me up at the crack of bloody dawn on a Sunday?”

Zayn clears his throat again. “Err… Louis, listen, do you happen to know anyone who’s looking for a room here in London?”

Louis frowns at that. “Trouble in paradise?” he asks, because he doesn’t know Zayn that well, but one thing he knows, like the rest of London. Zayn lives with his extremely hot – although not as hot as _him_ – girlfriend, Gigi.

“Gigi just moved out,” Zayn says, a bit coldly, “And I need a roommate by the end of the month. The expenses are too much on my own.”

Louis grins; he can almost _see_ his own braincells spinning and whirring. “I take it your job as a songwriter hasn’t taken off yet?”

Zayn grunts and murmurs something Louis doesn’t catch, but Zayn’s grumpy attitude doesn’t deter Louis in the slightest. This is just too perfect, really. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, my friend!” Louis says, and looks at his own reflection in the mirror, laughing at his own sly smile. “I just so happen to have a perfect match for your broody persona.”

  


**Another World**

Harry is an eternal optimist; just ask any of his many friends or family. Mostly they will say it as a compliment. However, making it as a fashion photographer in a high fashion city is not as easy as he had hoped when he graduated from uni with his fine arts degree.

He’s had two internships, both of which have led to side gigs of shooting weddings, graduations, and sweet sixteen parties, but he has yet to enter a fashion photo shoot on his own as the principal photographer. Today is the day, though! Well, sort of.

Harry wraps his old Leica, given to him ages ago by his grandfather, in soft cloths as he nestles it in its protected spot in his camera bag, along with a zoom lens for candids, his tabletop tripod, extra lights, and the collapsible photo umbrella that will make even drunk debutantes look good when he gets the light just right. No drunk debutantes today, though. He’s shooting Gigi Hadid, an up and coming young model who needs to add to her portfolio. His friend Louis has hooked them up, promising Harry that “this could lead to lots of hot models wanting your work. AND OF COURSE YOUR BODY!”

Louis never shuts up. And Harry has a girlfriend, to whom he is totally loyal. Totally! But this is a solid, so Harry thanks him profusely and promises him a night out and as much as he can drink, which is a stupid promise for a broke photographer to make, since Louis can drink a lot. He checks his phone for the address Louis gave him and sets off down to the subway from his  bedsit, thinking again how nice it would be to have a kitchen where he could actually, well, cook. Food type things.

His girlfriend Camille shares the bedsit with him, and frankly being together in such tight quarters is putting a strain on their relationship. They both have fine arts degrees, over the objections of both their sets of parents. Camille is working in a gallery, using her aristocratic looks to intimidate rich older couples to buy art when they happen to walk past an opening and come in. She gets a commission on what she sells, but it’s not been enough to get them out of the bedsit.

Harry enjoys the metro. He watches people and longs to photograph some of them, the interesting ones who appear to have led lives that now show on their faces. At one time he had wanted to be a _real_ photographer, but it didn’t pay the bills. He gets off at Queensway and comes out at the rows of newish white townhouses and sterile front gardens that make up this “high end” part of London--ugh. Nouveau riche here. It’s okay, though. Harry can’t complain since he’s poor himself. He follows Louis’s directions to the specific townhouse where he is supposed to find Gigi, steps through the gate to the tiny disheveled front garden, peering at--is that a champagne bottle he sees resting rakishly against the hedge?

He knocks softly, since it’s only ten am, an hour some people *cough Louis* consider too early for noise. He hears the murmur of female voices as steps come toward the other side of the door.

The door opens on an exotic looking girl with full lips and almond-shaped eyes. She’s wearing no makeup, so he asks uncertainly, “Are you Gigi?”

Her eyes warm: “You must be Harry! We were all up late last night. Come in, come in!”

Harry follows Gigi down the hall, past sofas with very tall and very thin sleeping girls, past ashtrays teetering on the edges of new-looking but unstable hall tables, empty bottles that occasionally roll away as Gigi pushes at them with a bare foot. “Sorry, Harry! Watch your step!” Is this a photography or a housekeeping job?

There is a bare room on the second floor at the back of the townhouse, all white walls and polished wood floors, with a side table, a plush gray armchair, and a rack of clothes. Gigi asks him to wait for a few minutes while she puts her face on. When she returns, her lips are stained a deep burgundy, she has a line of kohl around her eyes, and a light blush in her cheeks. She looks beautiful, and he tells her so, careful to couch the compliment in a neutral tone so she won’t think he’s coming on. Pleased, Gigi asks him, “What would you like me to wear to start?” He goes to the rack, picks out a sheer blouse with a pussy bow that he dreams of wearing himself, and a short skirt.

“Maybe start with something kind of mod, sort of a 60s vibe? Your hair will really work with it.”

Gigi strips down as though Harry isn’t in the room, and he has a brief moment to notice that she has really lovely breasts, and that she’s lovely somewhere else too, before he is calling out suggestions to her and taking photo after photo after photo.

  


**Right Now**

Zayn still has a bit of time before Louis shows up with his new potential roommate.

He’s alone in the house, and he doesn’t particularly like it. He likes having time for himself, really, but he’s also a creature of habit, and in the two years he’s spent sharing the house with Gigi, he’s become used to having her there whenever he was done locking himself in his studio to write.

Gigi’s perfect, and not only physically, which is a given. She’s good for Zayn, always taking care of him when he goes too long without eating or showering because he’s working at a song, always there to make him talk and laugh when he goes too long without speaking to anybody.

But company doesn’t mean love, and it’s become clearer and clearer to both of them that they’re not really in love, that Gigi treats Zayn like one of her girlfriends most of the time, and that Zayn takes her presence for granted at least once a day.

So when she’d told him that she wanted to break up and move out, Zayn had known it was for the best, really.

But Zayn is, again, a creature of habit; he likes the company of the same person over and over again, someone he trusts, someone whose care and trust he doesn’t have to work a lot for.

So the idea of having to share his place with a total stranger, someone he has to work himself out of his comfort zone to know – or keep living with without knowing them at all – isn’t appealing.

He sits in the swivel chair at his desk, in the studio, rolling left to right and right to left for a while. The chair was a present from Gigi (most things are in the house because of Gigi, if he’s honest, but she’s graciously left all the furniture and most of the kitchen stuff for him, because she knows he’s a mess when left to his own devices).

Zayn works on his songs a little bit. He’s far from being an in-demand songwriter, but he knows he’s good, and music labels are happy to pay him to get his songs for their up and coming artists. He’s learned early enough that he can’t just write what he wants. The lyrics need to be the right amount of cheesy and angsty and don’t ever dare talk about sex explicitly. Zayn doesn’t particularly like that, but he tells himself he’ll have more freedom once his career is at an higher peak.

He’s a bit surprised, although he knows he shouldn’t be, when Gigi calls him at lunch time.

Zayn realizes as he answers that the fondness he feels for Gigi will probably never go away, but he’s also relieved that they broke up, because Gigi deserves someone who can really be crazy in love with her. He’d much rather have her as a friend now than keep a strained relationship going until all that’s left is resentment.

“Gee?” he says upon answering.

There’s a lot of background noises. “Zee? You good? Did you eat?”

Zayn smiles. “Yes.”

“You’re lying.”

Zayn laughs. “You really know me, don’t you? Maybe we made a mistake. We should be married by now,” he jokes light-heartedly, because that’s the hidden Zayn Gigi is able to bring out.

She laughs too. “Nah, baby, we’d have been at each other’s throat on day one of the wedding planning.”

“True,” Zayn concedes.  “I’ll eat right now, don’t worry,” he adds, putting her on speaker and setting the phone on the kitchen counter as soon as he steps into the room, talking to her and looking for something microwavable in the freezer.

Gigi sighs. “Microwave food today, but from tomorrow, actual groceries. Okay?”

“You’re not the boss of me anymore,” Zayn complains.

Gigi chuckles. “I’ll always be the boss of you, Zee, don’t be mistaken.”

Zayn laughs. As he sets the pre-made frozen meatballs in the microwave, he curses himself a little bit when he remembers Gigi had an important photoshoot today. He never remembers shit, and that’s another reason he’s always been a shit boyfriend and been lucky that Gigi didn’t really mind.

“How was work?” Zayn asks. “That photoshoot?”

Gigi chuckles lightly. “Look at you, already recovering your memory now that you’re single,” she sing-songs. “Anyway, it was good. I mean, is. Still going, we’re on a break.”

“You in the photographer’s studio?” Zayn asks. The microwave dings, and he retrieves the plate with the now steaming meatballs, sitting at the breakfast bar to eat.

Then he stands up again, rolling his eyes at himself because he always, _always_ forgets to grab a glass of water before sitting to eat, and every fucking time he has to stand up again.

“No,” Gigi’s replying, and then lowers her voice. “I mean he’s crazy good, but he’s still… not an _actual_ photographer yet” she whispers, like she doesn’t want the guy to hear.  “I’m crashing at Kendall’s for the moment, so my agent called the photographer and told him to come here. It was a bit of a mess, I hope he doesn’t think I’m a slob. Seems so nice, Harry. He’s also got better hair than mine, and I’m not even jealous.”

Zayn hums. “Already trying to replace me?” he asks, and it’s not like he doesn’t want her to, it’s just… soon?

Gigi laughs. “Nah. He’s got a girlfriend, he told me. You’d like him loads though, he’s like, the yin to your yang or something. He’s cheerful and happy and an optimist, and he wakes up with the sun.”

“Hey!” Zayn exclaims, affronted, “Are you trying to say I’m not all those things?”

Gigi snorts. “You’d be broody even if you won the lottery.”

“I’m not broody.”

“You _invented_ brooding, Zayn,” Gigi quips.

Zayn laughs. He’s incredibly relieved that nothing has changed since they broke up, which is another indicator that they were never meant to be that way.

He’s about to say something more, but then he hears a voice shouting Gigi’s name, and he can almost see her roll her eyes. “Gotta go, my lunch break is apparently over. Oh no, wait, did you call Louis about your new roommate? Any news?” she asks, quickly.

Zayn sighs. “He said he has someone, and he’s bringing him over to look at the place later today.”

Gigi hums. “Okay, cool. Keep me updated? I feel kinda bad that I fucked off and left you with the house problem.”

“It’s fine, Gee. I like it here more than you ever did anyway. I’ll figure it out. Now go be sexy for your photographer.”

Gigi laughs. “It’s all I do, baby” she replies, faking a sultry tone, and making Zayn laugh again before they end the call.

Louis texts him _Be there in an hour_ half an hour later, and Zayn sighs, taking a quick tour of the house to make sure everything is in order.

He smokes a cigarette after that outside on the balcony. Then he waits.

The doorbell rings an hour and a half later, and as Zayn opens it, he thinks that a lack of punctuality is not a great start.

 

**What Makes You Beautiful**

Harry cares a lot about making a good first impression. It’s why  even though he spent more time with Gigi than he had allotted, he takes time for a quick shower and clean clothes before heading out with Louis to see Potential Roommate’s place. Speaking of first impressions, it’s not a great building. There’s graffiti covering the walls and the door at the top of the steps, and the street life is, well, interesting? It’s near the metro, though, and Louis, seeing his look, says, “Hey, I know it doesn’t look that great, but Zayn has the whole top floor. There’s not rooms, per se--this used to be a warehouse, so it’s a whatchacallit, a loft. Fancy, yeah?”

“Yeah, Lou, maybe? Since I’m wanting to be an artist. This might encourage me. But, what do you mean it doesn’t have rooms ‘per se’?”

“Well….Zayn has a room, and you have a bedroom area. It’s got screens around it for privacy, but it’s not quite a room. The guy who owned it built  out the bedroom for himself, and then I think he might have died..”

“Here??? Like, in the building, where his ghost might be haunting the place even as we speak?”

“Aw, Haz, don’t be daft. This whole area is up and coming, and the place is huge! Cmon, then. I’m gonna get Zayn to buzz us in.”

Harry’s not sure how Louis locates the buzzer since the multi-colored graffiti obscures all building details, but he finds it, and a second later, he hears a soft Northern burr answer, “Yeah? Louis?”

“Yeah, Zayn, I’m here with your new roommate, mate--let us in!”

“I thought you’d be here an hour ago. I fell asleep. Ok, give me a sec, and I’ll buzz you in. You remember where the elevator key is, yeah?”

Ugh, Harry is also not making a great first impression. He waits as Louis feels along the frame above the door until with a short “aha!” he’s located a skeleton key.

“Holy shit, Lou, does this place have wifi? Who uses a key like this anymore?”

“I know, I know, but the place has character. Did I mention it’s huge? And for inner London the rent is nothing. You should be thanking me already!”

Harry is eternally the optimist, but even his optimism falters when they enter an unlit hallway with paint-splattered concrete floors and a cage elevator at the far end. You get what you pay for, Harry reckons.

Louis slips a switch by the door, and overhead fluorescent lights hum slowly to life. The elevator is old enough that it has a lever instead of buttons, and Louis confidently pushes the lever in and moves it from G to 2 like an old pro.

It takes, Harry estimates, approximately a half hour to get up to the second floor, but through the metal grid he can see that Louis wasn’t exaggerating. The place is huge and amazingly comfortable considering what they saw on entry.

Whoa. It’s so big, with windows that stretch toward the sky and a space so wide open that Harry estimates he could put ten of his bedsits inside.

The boy who must be Zayn is waiting for them wearing a smile, track pants, and his own version of the door outside with colorful and intricate tattoos covering his upper chest, neck, and arms. Harry is so taken by the art that the boy is wearing that he finds himself staring until Louis nudges him with a sharp elbow. “Haz! I just said this here is Zayn!”

Then Harry looks up into the face of an angel. If his body is multicolored and disorienting in its complicated designs, his face is a flawless light caramel. At 24, Harry still gets spots, but this boy’s skin looks like it’s never seen acne. He has time to notice golden-brown eyes and a smile that draws his attention to a plump lower lip before he nervously pushes his camera bag back behind his arm so he can extend a hand to shake.

“Hiya, m’name’s Harry, and you’re Zayn, and this place is amazing.”

“Ah, thanks, mate, I was really lucky that it came on the market when it did. I had just gotten a big royalty check for a really stupid song I got lucky with.”

“Yeah, Louis said you were a songwriter, but he didn’t mention you’d written anything big. Would I know it?”

“I could tell you, but….ok, we might be living together, so remember two summers ago that song you heard everywhere, ‘Be Who You Are?'"

Harry hums the intro, and Zayn joins him in a silky tenor. They both laugh. “I couldn’t go in a coffee shop or a store without hearing it! That was you?”

“Me and the singer share sole songwriting credits. I knew him from uni, so it was just luck all around that it hit the way it did. I haven’t sold anything since that’s near that big, just mostly indie pop and r&b, which would not be paying the bills unless I had had the cash for most of this place up front. Even so, I have to share to make the bills and keep myself in cigs and takeout.”

“Oh, do you smoke?” Harry can’t help but frown, because Louis hadn’t mentioned it, and his asthma means that he can’t be around it on the regular. He turns to Louis as if to say, “Why did you get my hopes up? He SMOKES.”

“I own the whole building, so I’ve got a smoking space down on the first floor. No worries. I don’t like to live in a foul-smelling place myself.”

Harry feels the first stirrings of enthusiasm as he looks around the space, noting the full kitchen with a professional-looking gas cooktop--gas!--and what must be the bedroom “space” that Louis had alluded to. “May I look at the, um, well, the space that would be mine?”

“Yeah, course, it’s just over here.”

Zayn leads him to a platformed area that has “walls,” or dividers, Harry can’t tell which, and an open space about the size of what would be a door. Inside, there are two huge wardrobes down two “walls” and folding screens on either side of what Harry is going to call his door. It’s not exactly private, but it’s spacious, there’s tons of storage, there’s a big bed so he can leave his with Camille--it’s pretty perfect. Also, _Zayn_. There’s Zayn.

“Ah, I love it! So what can I tell you about me that will make me seem like the perfect roommate?”

Harry’s going to agree to whatever Zayn says, even if it includes Zayn smoking, because Zayn is smoking. Hot, that is. Ha! Harry cracks himself up.

 

**Does He Know?**

Zayn can’t exactly say why, but he’s a bit bothered by the fact that Harry has a girlfriend.

Her name is Camille, and Zayn doesn’t particularly like her, if he’s honest.

Shortly after Harry settles in and Louis goes away, Harry and Zayn are sitting at the table in the kitchen over a cup of tea, and Harry’s telling him more about his professional aspirations and about some kind of photoshoot he had today, when the doorbell rings, interrupting them.

Harry clears his throat. “Oh, um, that, that’s my girlfriend, probably. I invited her over to help me unpack, I hope it’s not a problem, sorry I didn’t tell you,” he rambles, standing up.

Zayn frowns, but he immediately tries to smooth his features, and he takes a moment to look at Harry as he goes to the intercom to answer the buzzer.

Harry’s gorgeous, is the thing. He’s wearing skinnies and just a white, paper-thin tee, which exposes the clusterfuck of apparently random tattoos on his arm. Harry can effortlessly pull them off, though, and Zayn is momentarily taken aback by the fact he’s _staring_ . At _his new roommate_.

“Um, Zayn?” Harry calls him, sheepishly scratching the back of his head and making his curls bounce.

Zayn snaps out of his daze. “Yeah?”

“The buzzer doesn’t work”

“Oh, no, wait…” Zayn mutters, and joins Harry by the door, pressing hard on the button three times. The buzzer dings, and Zayn grins at Harry. “’S a stubborn fucker, is all. You just have to be rough with it.”

Harry’s cheeks are a bit red, he notices. “Oh, okay. Be rough. Got it,” he mutters.

Zayn doesn’t have time to answer, because right that moment the door flings open, and a girl with blonde hair and pretty, clear eyes steps in. “This place’s a _shithole_ , babe” she announces, kissing Harry on the lips.

Zayn feels very offended, even though he’s always been the first to call the place a shithole. But that’s not very nice coming from a total stranger, isn’t it? And also, it’s super rude to just snog your boyfriend in front of people you don’t know. It’s rude, that’s all.

Harry seems to share the sentiment, because he squeals a little bit and gently grabs his girlfriend by the shoulders, pushing her back a little to interrupt the kiss. “Camille, this is Zayn Malik, my new roommate and the, ahem, owner of this fine space.. Zayn, this is my girlfriend, Camille Rowe,” he says.

Camille, turns to look at Zayn, and she gapes a little. “Oh, wow. Hi. I’m Camille, very nice to meet you,” she says, sticking a hand out for Zayn.

Zayn shakes it, and it seems to him that Camille holds his hand a bit harder and longer than necessary. “Hey. Zayn. Nice to meet you, Miss Rowe,” he says, overcompensating for his instinctive dislike by being overly polite. He slowly manages to set his hand free from her grip.

Camille laughs. “I’m definitely gonna be here quite a lot, no need for formalities,” she declares.

Harry sighs and smiles tightly. “Camille,” he just says, through his teeth.

Camille shrugs. “What? He’s fit. I was so scared you were gonna live with a seventy-year-old, seeing where this house is….”

“ _Camille_ ,” Harry hisses, and then grabs her arm. “Come, I’ll show you my room,” he adds, smiling at Zayn and pulling her away behind the dividers.

“Oh, fuck,” Zayn hears Camille laugh. “Harry, this is _so not_ a room.”

“It’s nice,” Harry retorts instantly, with a defensive tone, and Zayn finds himself smiling a little. It’s so sweet of Harry, to defend a house that became his just half an hour earlier, isn’t it?

Camille hums. “So is he gonna listen every time we have sex?” she asks bluntly. “Or is he gonna join?”

“ _Camille,_ ” Harry gasps for the third time. “I really hate when you’re like this, you know,” he murmurs, barely audible. “It’s a nice place, the rent isn’t that much, and Zayn is a nice guy. It could be worse.”

Camille hums again. “Well, maybe you won’t have to stay for long. Your income is gonna go up soon, isn’t it? How’d that photoshoot go? With the tall model, Nini Something?”

Harry snorts a laugh. Zayn weirdly wishes he could watch him while he laughs some more. “Gigi,”  Harry then says, giving Zayn a heart attack. “She was very nice and professional!”

“Gigi Hadid?” Zayn asks, before his brain actually decides to let him pronounce the words.

Harry and Camille come out from the dividers, and Harry’s frowning. “Yeah? Do you know her?” he asks.

 _Oh well, better get it out of the way_ , Zayn thinks before replying. “Yeah,” he sighs. “She… she was my girlfriend. We, like, broke up, some days ago.”

Harry’s face does a lot of things. He goes pale and then red, he frowns and then he arches an eyebrow, but “Oh” is all he says.

Zayn nods. “Yeah,” he says again. “‘S cool though. We’re friends. I think we always were more friends than lovers anyway,” he adds, and then curses himself, because he thinks it’s okay to let Harry know about his personal history, but he doesn’t feel quite comfortable sharing the same details with his girlfriend.

Said girlfriend seems impressed. “Oh, wow. Well, figures. Someone this fit could only date someone equally fit,” she states.

Harry frowns. “Um, your boyfriend? Me? Standing right here while you keep calling another man fit?” he says.

Camille shrugs. “Harry, babe, you’re good-looking, but you’re no model, I’m afraid,” she sighs with a grin.

Zayn kinda hates her. “He’s alright,” he retorts, as deadpan as he can.

Harry gives him a dimpled smile, as bright as the fucking sun, and Zayn really doesn’t know what is happening to his stomach. It’s like there’s something fluttering in it.

“I’m alright,” Harry repeats, looking at Camille “Now, do you want to help me unpack or do you wanna keep harassing my new roommate until the point he bans us both from the house?”

 

***

 

The first night goes well. Luckily for Zayn, Camille doesn’t sleep at his and Harry’s place, saying something about not being sure the mattress doesn’t have fleas in it. Harry looks mortally offended when she says that and tells her that that mattress is ten times better than the one he had in their old bedsit. Zayn counts it as a victory and counts the fact Camille leaves as more than a victory, too.

Harry and Zayn spend the night talking about their jobs. Harry is very careful when he delivers info about the photoshoot with Gigi, probably afraid Zayn’s gonna be upset, but Zayn is honestly not, and he even tells Harry that Gigi told him Harry’s very fucking good at his job.

Harry beams a little at that, and Zayn struggles to tame the weird butterflies in his stomach.

It’s weird, how fast they bond. By the end of the night, Zayn has come to know very personal details about Harry’s life, like the fact his relationship with Camille is slowly going south, and Harry can’t even be arsed to try and save it.

“Why don’t you, like, break up with her, then?” Zayn dares ask at two in the morning, as they sit on the carpet in the common living room area, right in front of the dividers circling Harry’s “room”.

Harry shrugs. “’S not that easy, is it? I’ve been with her forever. We even lived together. And I think I love her still, just, like… not as a girlfriend. And my life is changing so fast, with the moving, and new work. I just don’t feel ready to change it emotionally as well.”

Zayn nods. “Well, fair enough, babe,” he says, the pet name escaping his lips without Zayn’s own consent, and Harry goes a lovely red at that. “But let me tell you. You might want to kill this agonizing animal before it goes feral on you.”

Harry sighs. “I’ll think about it. Thanks, Zayn. For, like, listening to a stranger.”

Zayn grins. “We live together now, Haz. You’re the furthest thing from a stranger to me now.”

They go to sleep after that, and if Zayn struggles falling asleep because he keeps realizing Harry’s right _there_ , well, nobody has to know.

Harry’s good, and he’ll be a good change to Zayn’s life as well.

It’s only the morning after that Zayn realizes there might be some… _dangers_ in living with Harry.

When Zayn wakes up, he goes straight to the kitchen to make himself some coffee, and then, as usual, brings the cup to the living room to drink it on the couch.

He almost lets it fall to the ground when he’s met with a clear sight of Harry’s perfect arse, constricted in tight, yellow shorts, as he’s arching on a pink yoga mat in the middle of the room, his feet and palms planted on the mat, and the sunlight hitting the broad expanse of his back.

Harry doesn’t see him, and Zayn aborts every noise threatening to escape his lips, because the mere sight of Harry bending like that makes him fill up instantly, tenting his trackpants in a matter of seconds.

Zayn quickly retreats to his room, closing the door and leaning his back into it, the cup shaking in his hand.

He doesn’t even know what the fuck’s happening to him.

 

**Perfect**

For some reason, Camille has been insisting on staying with Harry at his. “It’s so much bigger, Harry! And there’s a real kitchen, not just a hot plate!”

This would make sense if Camille cooked, if she could do more than boil water for tea. But Harry doesn’t say anything. When she’s over during the day, she interrupts Zayn while he’s trying to write, sometimes even if he has his door closed, and so far Zayn has been good-natured but firm about pushing her out. Harry still doesn’t say anything. He can’t tell anymore if he’s just a bit tired of Camille or if he’s a bit jealous of her interest in Zayn.

What Harry has always liked most about her, besides her forthrightness, is how natural she is, but he notices that she’s started wearing lipstick, blush, and mascara when she comes over. She’s in her nicest, tightest black jeans, and tight tops with no bra. He wants her more than he has in ages, and he pushes the thought of who else looks good in tight black jeans to the back of his mind.

One night, she goes too far. He and Zayn are watching movies. They’ve made a compromise between the superhero movies that Zayn likes and the rom coms that Harry likes, taking turns back and forth, and tonight is Harry’s turn. He’s thumbing through Netflix and HBO looking for just the right one to convince Zayn that rom coms are great--Zayn is still highly dubious--when they both hear the buzzer indicating someone is downstairs.

“Shall I get it, Z?” Harry has a feeling it’s Camille, even though he would never invite her over on movie night. He gets up without waiting for an answer to go to the intercom. “Yeah?”

“Harry! I had dinner plans tonight, but they fell through. Can I come up and spend the night with you?”

Harry is many things, and right now he’s wondering if one of them is gay, since he finds himself staring at Zayn while having impure thoughts, but rude is not one of them. “Of course, babe. We’re just starting a movie.”

Harry quickly decides that he doesn’t want to watch _Ten Things I Hate About You_ with Camille there. He’s always had a little thing for Heath Ledger, and he wants to be able to pay attention to whether Zayn might have a little thing for Heath too. They’ll watch _Bridesmaids_. Zayn has the sense of humor for it, and he knows Camille has already seen it. They watched it together twice. Maybe she won’t want to stay.

Too quickly the elevator arrives, and she’s sliding the metal grid over and walking out into their living space. Wow. Camille looks like someone else.

She’s wearing full makeup; Harry can tell. Eye shadow, kohl under her eyes and along her lid line, red lipstick, false eyelashes that Harry thinks disloyally can’t hold a candle to Zayn’s, and foundation--her skin has a sheen of perfection he’s never seen except on models doing photo shoots. That’s not all, though.

She’s wearing a figure-hugging black sheath dress, silk, Harry thinks, and tight enough that it’s obvious the dress is all she’s wearing. Where the hell was she having dinner, looking like that?

Harry kisses her hello and smells wine on her breath. Ok, she’s already started. “Do you want to open that wine you brought over last time, C?”

“I don’t know. Zayn, will you drink with us?”

“I’m more of a beer guy, Camille, but thanks.” Zayn smiles at her, oblivious. At that moment, Harry loves Zayn with all his heart, because Harry knows that all this is not for him, and the target of Camille’s seductive appearance doesn’t have a clue.

They spend two embarrassing hours on the couch with Zayn. Camille drinks most of the bottle of wine. With every glass, she gets more affectionate with Harry until right at the end of the movie, when we learn that Noah has been talking to Allie THE WHOLE TIME, and Harry’s eyes fill up with tears no matter how many times he watches it, Camille has her leg thrown over Harry’s lap and she is licking on his ear.

“C’mon, babe, let’s go to bed. I want you so much.”

The dress and the makeup may not have been for Harry, but he’s very susceptible to having his ears licked: it goes straight to his cock. Before it can fatten up too much and embarrass him in front of Zayn, who for once is also really into the movie, Harry lets Camille pull him up off the couch and toward his room.

“Yeah, Z, so we’re gonna….” He gestures toward his bed space, but at the same time Camille grabs his ass and giggles. “We’re gonna fuck, Zayn. See ya.”

Well, this is embarrassing, but Harry finds that arousal is winning the battle over embarrassment, especially since Camille has taken one of his hands and slipped it up her dress to reveal that he was right, she wasn’t wearing anything under the dress and she’s ready for him now.

He tries to groan quietly, but they haven’t had really hot sex in a while. “Let’s get naked, babe. I want to feel you all over,” Camille whispers in his ear. Fuck.

“Zayn’s just right there in the living room,” he hisses.

“He’s watching the movie, babe. He doesn’t care what we’re doing.”

If Zayn doesn’t care what they’re doing, then why does Camille pull off all their clothes and position them in the middle of Harry’s new bed, right in front of the gap in the privacy screens? Why does she turn her back to Harry so she can suck his dick with long, languorous movements, stopping frequently to rub her clit against his erection and to lift her hands to her nipples? Why does she moan so loudly? She’s always been pretty quiet in bed, like most aristocratic girls he’s known.

He’s going to get off, though. “C’mere, Camille, I’m ready, you’re ready. Do you want to ride me? Or I can fuck you from behind?" he says, thinking vaguely that he has a pretty bum that maybe Zayn hasn’t seen enough of.

“Oh, I’m gonna ride you, horsie,” Camille says loudly, which are words Harry would have bet what little money he had he would never hear out of his girlfriend’s mouth. Wow. Zayn was really having an affect. He tries to feel jealous, but he’s caught up in performing. He hopes that Zayn will stay on the couch, that he’s watching right now.

Camille rubs against his cock a few times and rolls a condom down his length before she lifts and lines herself up, slowly, very slowly, sinking down on his cock until her bare pussy is rubbing against his pubic hair. Ah, it feels good.

Normally he would let her set the pace, but the thought that Zayn might be watching makes Harry snap his hips, grind himself into Camille’s pelvic bone, reach out and rub her clit lightly and then with more firmness. He wants her to come, loud. He wants Zayn to hear how good he can make someone feel.

It doesn’t take long before Camille goes rigid and calls out a series of “Oh! Oh! Oh my god! Fuck me! Harder!” It’s quite dramatic, but in spite of the artificiality it’s also hot as hell. The thought that they are performing, that Zayn could even be stroking himself while he watches them is the final straw for Harry. He shoots into the condom as Camille clinches around him, still in the throes of her own orgasm. He pulls her down to his chest and moves her head to his shoulder.

To his disappointment, Zayn is gone from the couch.

Harry avoids confrontation at all costs. He once had a relationship that lasted over a year because he couldn’t tell the girl that he didn’t like her anymore. Louis still teases him about it, because he didn’t like the girl either. But this is special.

“I guess that was a goodbye fuck, huh, Camille,” he says more bluntly than he ever says anything.

“What are you saying, Harry?” Camille says, trying for hurt but looking a bit absurd with mascara under her eyes and a fake eyelash strip coming loose at the corner of one eye.

“I’m saying that you’ve got a major crush on Zayn, and don’t try to deny it because so do I.” He grins at her. “So you and I are over, and I guess you’ll have to figure out some other way to try to hook up with my roommate.”

“May the best man win, huh, Camille?”

He’s not sure she hears him, because she’s pulling on her dress and stumbling into her heels as she makes a hasty and rather graceless exit from the loft.

  


**Little Black Dress**

Zayn is a bit upset when Camille rings the doorbell and invites herself in, disrupting his night in with Harry.

He tries to tell himself that it’s because he and Harry are friends, and Harry seems a bit bummed as well that their alone time includes a third party now. But the truth is that Zayn has done a little bit of soul-searching in the last few days, and he’s come to the conclusion that he and Harry are not friends, not really, because Zayn most certainly doesn’t _see_ Harry as a friend.

Unless the concept of _friend_ includes staring at his arse and thighs and wishing to see them strain while Harry fucks him. What?

Does it make Zayn gay? He doesn’t really know, because he hasn’t ever felt this kind of attraction for a man.

Maybe Zayn is just a little gay for Harry Styles.

Camille is clearly tipsy. She was probably already tipsy before opening the bottle of wine that she has mostly consumed.

She sends a couple glances at Zayn while they watch the movie, but Zayn doesn’t know what to do, so he keeps his eyes on the telly without really concentrating on whatever they’re watching anyway.

It takes a little while, and a couple more glances directed at him from both Harry and Camille, but soon enough Camille is having none of that, and she starts being a bit handsy with Harry.

Harry seems more than a little affected by it anyway, and Zayn can’t really blame him. Camille was already pretty without any makeup and with no fancy clothes, but now she’s just plain gorgeous, with the kohl around her eyes and the tight sheath dress.

Zayn just wishes she would be gorgeous and handsy with Harry _away_ from him.

He keeps his eyes glued on the tv, until he hears Harry and Camille rustle and shift on the couch, and then they’re standing up, and Harry looks a bit embarrassed. “Yeah, Z, so we’re gonna…” he says, scratching at the back of his head and pointing his head towards his bed space.

Zayn doesn’t even have time to answer before Camille laughs and grabs Harry’s ass. “We’re gonna fuck, Zayn. See ya,” she says.

Zayn still doesn’t reply, and just briefly nods at their backs as they make their way to the divider.

Zayn knows he should leave, but he can’t. It’s like his feet have forgotten how to move as he fights himself with all he has not to turn his head to Harry’s bed and the whispers he hears coming from behind the divider.

He thinks he even hears his own name at some point. Zayn turns the volume of the tv up a notch.

It’s useless anyway, because then his eyes betray him, and he catches sight of Camille’s clothes, positioned on Harry’s bed right where the gap in the screens is.

Is she doing it on purpose? Is _Harry_ doing it on purpose?

Camille and Harry fuck like they have an audience.

Zayn can hear the wet sounds coming from where Harry’s cock is buried deep inside her, he can hear her moan and the bed creak as she rides him, calling him “horsie” in a way that makes Harry gasp and Zayn bite down hard on his own bottom lip.

Zayn’s hard, painfully so, and by now he’s sure it’s not because of Camille’s moans.

It’s Harry, his soft groans and the way Zayn can see his knees in the gap as he fucks up into Camille riding him.

Zayn could leave.

Instead, he silently shoves a hand down his own pants, and strokes himself in time with Harry’s grunts.

It takes almost no time for Zayn to go from picturing Harry’s hands around Camille’s narrow waist, to imagining the same big hands wrapped around _Zayn’s_ waist.

Zayn would love to ride Harry, if it means being on the receiving end of those silent gasps, if it means being the _cause_ of them.

Not Camille. Zayn.

Camille starts properly screaming, and it’s hot, because Harry _must_ know there’s no way Zayn isn’t listening.

Zayn tightens his hand around himself, and when Harry’s groans become louder and more frequent, Zayn has to fight harder not to let his own groans come out of his mouth.

Camille comes right about then, with a high-pitched moan that is so different from the quiet shudders Zayn had become used to with Gigi. He briefly wonders if it’s just a show, or if Harry is a lover so talented and generous that his girlfriend really can’t keep quiet.

The thought that Harry might be performing for Zayn, and even trying to strain his ears to see if Zayn’s enjoying the show, is too much. Zayn gives himself a final tug and comes, burying his face in one of the couch pillows to be sure that not even the faintest gasp can be heard from him.

After he makes a mess of his clothes, he bolts out of the living room and to the bathroom, where Harry won’t ever be able to see him, cheeks red and pupils blown after he just came to the sounds of his roommate having sex with his girlfriend.

He’s still in the bathroom when he hears Harry speak. “I guess that was a goodbye fuck, huh, Camille,” he says, and his tone is a bit cold and a bit stubborn, so different from what Zayn has learned is _Harry_.

Zayn clearly can listen to sex, but he can’t listen to what is probably going to be a breakup, so he doesn’t. He goes to his room and closes the door, deciding he won’t come out until way late in the morning.

 

***

 

Zayn can’t keep his promise to himself, because he doesn’t sleep even for a minute, and around eight in the morning he decides to stop trying and goes down to the kitchen to make himself some coffee and try to work on his songs at least.

He resolutely doesn’t look at the gap in Harry’s screens to check if Harry’s still there, if he’s asleep, if Camille’s still with him.

So, from his not-looking, he gathers the info that Harry’s still asleep and alone.

After the coffee’s ready, Zayn sits at the breakfast bar in the kitchen with his bowl of milk and cereal and his notepad, jotting down lines only to scratch them seconds later.

When he takes his first unnecessary break, his eyes fall on a folder labelled “Gigi Hadid.” It’s Harry’s, and it probably contains the trial prints of the photoshoot he did with Gigi the very day he moved in with Zayn.

 _How bad can it be if I just look for a second?_ Zayn thinks, and opens the folder.

Gigi’s beautiful, and Zayn’s overcome by a rush of affection for her. It’s crazy, just how much Harry has been able to capture her best profile, her best pose, her best everything.

Gigi deserves to be a top model, and Harry deserves to be an in-demand photographer, that’s for sure.

“Oh my God, Zayn, I’m so sorry,” Harry’s voice comes from the entrance to the kitchen, and Zayn instantly puts the pictures down, miraculously managing not to spill milk and coffee all over them in his haste.

For a moment, Zayn thinks Harry’s saying sorry for last night, but then he sees the way Harry’s staring at the pictures with wide eyes. “I forgot to put them away, I’m so stupid, sorry, sorry,” Harry rambles, going to the bar and hastily shoving the pictures back in the folder.

Zayn frowns. “Haz? It’s okay, like, I’ve seen Gigi every day for years. Seeing her being sexy on my breakfast bar is not a first,” he says.

Harry’s face goes red, and Zayn curses himself a bit for just _what_ his sentence is implying, already thinking of a way to correct himself.

Then he remembers Harry did a bit more than just embarrass Zayn last night, so he changes his mind and just shuts up.

Harry clears his throat and pours himself some milk and cereal, then sets the bowl on the bar next to Zayn and takes a seat. “Good morning,” he murmurs, eyes on the cereal.

Zayn, despite himself, feels a helpless smile creep on his face. “Morning, babe,” he says.

“I’m, like, sorry that… that we left so suddenly last night.”

Zayn forces himself to shrug and not stare at Harry, at the way he isn’t wearing his top, and his hair is loose and curly around his face. “’S okay, Haz. I went to bed like a minute later. I’m afraid the movie wasn’t that interesting without you,” he replies, lying.

Harry clears his throat again. “Oh,” he just says. “I thought… I thought you heard us.”

“Hm?” Zayn hums, trying to sound casual. “Why’s that? Oh, were you loud? It’s okay, I can’t hear shit from my room.”

Harry’s still staring at his cereal bowl when he answers. “I, like, broke up with her. Afterwards. It’s just, she… she’s been behaving in a way I don’t particularly like, lately.”

Zayn would be completely clueless if he hadn’t noticed already. Especially the bits about Camille putting on a show with Harry every time Zayn himself is around. “Oh,” Zayn just says, though. “Sorry, Haz. I know it sucks.”

Harry nods. “Well, it was an agonizing animal needing to be put out of its misery, as you said some time ago,” he sighs. “What are you doing today? How are your songs coming along?”

Zayn shrugs. “I try my best. I think I’ll stay in and work on them some more.”

“I’ll stay in as well. I only need to edit a couple pics and then I think I have to gather Camille’s things and give them back to her, I guess.”

Zayn pats him on the shoulder. “I’d offer to help, babe, but I just finished gathering my own ex’s things,” he says dramatically.

Harry looks at him for a moment and then laughs.

Zayn doesn’t think he’s ever _noticed_ dimples before, but he sure as hell always notices Harry’s, and how sexy they are, even when he’s almost choking on his cereal in his laughter.

 

***

 

The next three days are uneventful.

Zayn works at his songs, and Harry works at his photographs.

They clean the house.

They stay in at night and watch movies, and Zayn feels kind of a dick for being relieved at the thought that Camille’s not going to invite herself in, now.

That is, until the third day, when Harry’s out shopping groceries, and Camille rings the doorbell.

Zayn is a bit confused as he buzzes her in. He’s fairly sure Harry already gave her all her things back, and if she’s there to talk to Harry, why didn’t she check with him to see if he was home first?

Zayn opens the door for her, but she doesn’t come in right away. She stays on the threshold, looking a bit embarrassed and tentative, which is highly _not_ like Camille.

Her eyes look big and pretty, highlighted by the kohl, but she isn’t wearing much more make-up.

Her jeans are tight, and the floral blouse hugs her curves in a way Zayn would like, if he wasn’t so much more into her other half. _Ex_ other half.

“Hey, Camille,” Zayn smiles “Um, Harry isn’t home, sorry.”

She nods. “Yeah, no, I know. Zayn, can we, like, talk? I came to see you,” she says, clearing her throat.

Zayn frowns, but “Sure,” he says, stepping aside to let her in.

She doesn’t look like she owns the space as usual, as they go into the living area and sit on the sofa. Zayn feels a flash of resentment as she sits in Harry’s spot then watches her spare a small glance for the dividers of Harry’s “room.” Then she sighs, facing Zayn.

“Zayn, I like you,” she says, bluntly.

Zayn has to fight himself a great deal not to arch his eyebrow. “You do?”

She nods. “I think I started liking you the very day Harry introduced us, which doesn’t make me look like a good girlfriend or even a good person, but there you have it.”

Zayn doesn’t know how to reply, even, but he doesn’t have to, because Camille isn’t finished.

“I think I’d very much like it if we went out. Me and you. Harry broke up with me, I’m sure he told you, but honestly, even if he didn’t, I would have, he’s been a shit boyfriend for months now.”

Zayn crosses his arms, trying still to be polite, obviously failing. “Talking shit about my friend isn’t gonna make me say yes, to say the least” he says, and it’s cold and a bit rude, if he’s honest, but Zayn can’t help it.

Camille gasps. “I’m not talking shit about him!” she exclaims. “I, like, I still love him. As a friend. I don’t think he’s particularly well-inclined towards me, now, but still,” she adds, rolling her eyes.

Zayn frowns. “What do you mean?”

Camille chuckles. “You’re a bit more oblivious than I thought,” she comments. “Never mind. Will you go out with me, Zayn? I know I can be a lot and we don’t really know each other, but I think we would be great, if you give us a chance. You’re fit, and funny, and I really like you,” she says as she scoots closer to him, and Zayn knows she can be a bit forthcoming, but he doubts she’s gonna try to snog him right there and then.

Nevertheless, Zayn takes a step back and prepares himself to answer. “Camille,” he says, warily, “You… you’re lovely, really. You’re gorgeous and I have no doubts you’re fun and adorable. I mean it. But… this ain’t gonna work, sweetheart.”

Camille sighs and lowers her eyes to the floor. “But _why_?” she frowns.

Zayn sighs. How bad can it be to be honest?

“Because I like someone else, Camille,” Zayn replies, and it feels a bit like freedom, to say it out loud for the first time ever. Even if it’s to Camille.

Camille sighs, rolling her eyes. “Surprise, surprise,” she says, sarcastically. “Well. So is it a complete no?”

“It’s a complete no, C, I’m afraid,” Zayn nods.

“Harry is a difficult partner, lemme just tell ya,” she says, going for the door.

Zayn’s stomach does a one-eighty, and he runs after her in the hall, grabbing her by an arm. “What’s Harry got to do with this?” he asks, and he sounds stupid even to his own ears.

Camille laughs. “Zayn, you and Harry might be dumb, but I’m certainly not,” she just says. “Bye,” she adds, and opens the door.

And Harry’s right there, on the other side, three grocery bags hanging from his arms, keys in hand, and a frown on his face when he notices Zayn’s hand is still on Camille’s wrist. “What’s going on, exactly?” he asks, coldly.

 

**No Control**

Harry has a problem. Well, Harry has a lot of problems, if he’s honest, but he has a new problem.

Ever since he came home to find Zayn seeing Camille out, and Zayn had stuttered out an explanation, blushing and looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else saying anything else to anyone else, Harry has been feeling enormously fond. So fond that he cannot keep his hands off Zayn.

On movie nights, they sit close enough that Zayn will put his arm along the back of the sofa behind Harry. When that happens, every time, Harry can no longer watch the movie because his entire attention is on the light touch of Zayn’s arm on his back and the casual way his hand rests on Harry’s shoulder. Harry wants to bite him.

Two weeks into a Camille-less life, Harry cannot control his impulses. They are watching _Notting Hill_ , a real classic with an adorable Hugh Grant, oh my god, Hugh was so cute back in the day, and Zayn’s hand is touching Harry’s shoulder lightly as usual. Harry turns his head to the hand, taking in the bold rings and the slender digits, and his control snaps. He bites lightly into the meaty pad of Zayn’s thumb, and then he licks up toward his thumbnail, savoring the delicious salt and smoke that accompany Zayn at all times. Oops.

Okay, this is going to require an explanation. Unfortunately, Harry doesn’t have one.

Never complain, never explain. That’s what Disraeli always said, or so he learned in his Nineteenth Century British History course in uni. So Harry settles back into the sofa, leaning a bit on Zayn’s slim torso, and turning his blind eyes toward the telly again.

His heart is beating loudly enough that he hopes Zayn doesn’t hear it, and he risks a quick glance at Zayn, only to see that Zayn is looking at him quizzically, eyebrows raised, a slight smile on his face. Harry shrugs, as if to say, what do you expect, Zayn, when your hand is just right there all the time?

He tries to return to the film. Julia Roberts has stayed with Hugh overnight for the first time. Harry loves this scene, but his eyes stare at the screen without really taking in the story. He just bit Zayn. It was heaven.

Meanwhile, Zayn has taken up rubbing Harry’s shoulder in a light circular motion. It’s nothing much, except that it’s _everything_. Just this lightest touch on what cannot be called an erogenous zone normally is enough to make Harry’s pants feel tighter and his cheeks warm. Is this a come on? Does Zayn want to do anything more than sit together watching a rom com?

Harry’s brain stutters and stalls; this is what Zayn reduces him to with his perfect profile and velvet eyelashes, looking all moody and sexy. He thinks blearily that Zayn can hardly blame him for anything he does right now.

Without giving himself time for analysis and possibly talking himself out of it, Harry turns his head toward Zayn and plants a kiss on Zayn’s flawless cheek, then he rests his head against Zayn’s collarbone. Zayn squeezes his shoulder then, and Harry thinks that maybe Zayn is going to make a move. He waits, hoping that Zayn will put a hand in his hair or maybe just put a finger in Harry’s mouth, because _yes_. Harry would like to leave bites all over Zayn’s arm and hand. If Zayn is going to leave his limbs in proximity to Harry’s mouth, what else can he do?

Minutes pass, but now Zayn has stopped rubbing Harry’s shoulder, and _Notting Hill_ presses relentlessly on. Julia accompanies Hugh as his date to his little sister’s birthday party. Harry wonders idly, is he Hugh or Julia? He must be Julia. He’s the bolder one. Probably he should just do something, like, now.

He grabs Zayn’s hand and presses a kiss into his palm. He might have let his tongue dance a bit there, maybe, for just a second. Still delicious. He slips Zayn’s thumb into his mouth and bites lightly. Lovely.

Still, Zayn does nothing, so Harry just clutches Zayn’s hand and prays for any kind of answering sign, like maybe Zayn could rest his head on Harry’s, or he could take Harry’s hand and put it...somewhere on Zayn, somewhere exciting. Julia makes her “I’m just a girl” speech and Harry is still waiting.

Maybe he’s been misreading the signals. After all, Zayn had a beautiful girlfriend. He’s never mentioned being attracted to a man. He didn’t stay for the Harry/Camille performance that last night that they had sex. As much as it hurts to admit it to himself, maybe he’s not irresistible. But he likes Zayn so much. Ugh.

Finally, the closing credits are rolling, and Harry feels like he should say something. “So, have I converted you yet, Z? Do you admit that rom coms are great?”

Zayn gives him a crinkly-nosed grin. “Babe, I admit I kind of liked this one, but they don’t have much plot, do they? It’s just basically boy meets girl, obstacles ensue, boy gets girl. Boring, innit?”

Boring! Harry is insulted. This shall not pass. “It’s only boring if you don’t have a romantic bone in your body? Honestly, Zayn, I’m so disappointed in you! No wonder you and Gigi didn’t work out.”

Fuck his life. Harry absolutely did not mean to say that. He has a lot of nerve, doesn’t he, considering his last girlfriend tried to get off with Zayn. “I’m sorry, Z. That was so stupid. I didn’t mean it,” he blathers, as Zayn stands up abruptly.

“It’s okay, Harry. I’m sure you didn’t mean anything bad. You’re right. I’m shit as a boyfriend, and I never deserved Gigi. See you tomorrow.”

And with that he goes into his room, and Harry is left on the sofa alone, with his hard on and his embarrassment. Why is he always so stupid?

 

***

 

Anne always told Harry that if he broke it he had to fix it, so he’s determined to fix his relationship with Zayn. What better way than by fixing Zayn and Gigi?

He goes to his friend Niall’s to use his iMac Pro and spends an entire night on Photoshop creating beautiful pictures of Zayn’s beautiful girlfriend. If he still thought he was straight, he would definitely want her. Harry feels confident when he calls Gigi that she’s going to like what she sees of his work.

When he gets her on the phone, he feels compelled to say who he is. “Hey, Gigi, it’s Harry, the photographer, who came over a couple of weeks ago and did that shoot with you?”

Gigi laughs. “Well, hello, Harry the photographer who came over a couple of weeks ago and did that photo shoot with me? How are you?”

“Sorry! I mean, sorry for that long introduction and sorry for taking so long!”

“Harry, you told me it would be two weeks, which it has been, and it’s cute that you thought you would be so forgettable--don’t worry. What’s up? Do you have my shots?”

“I do, and if you’re home and have a few, I’d like to come by?”

“Sure--give me an hour, and then I’ll have about an hour for you. Is that enough?”

Harry assures her that it is and hangs up, feeling resolute but also nervous. He’s about to meddle, which is something he learned long ago is a bad idea. Still, he has come to really care about Zayn and wants the best for him, and if Zayn wants Gigi, which Harry is sure he does, then he wants to help Zayn get Gigi. It’s like a rom com, and he is the Best Friend Who Sacrifices His Own Happiness.

An hour later he’s standing on the stoop in the untidy front garden of Gigi’s townhouse. He notices the empty champagne bottle is still leaning against the hedge, although not quite as rakishly. Girls are so messy.

He rings the doorbell and waits about ten seconds before he’s enveloped in sweet-smelling girl.

“HARRY! You adorable dork! I’m so glad to see you and can’t wait to see my pictures!” Gigi has a half full glass of wine in her hand, so apparently happy hour has started early. “Can you wine?” She giggles, “Wine/whine, get it?”

Harry gets it; he loves that he and Gigi have the same sense of humor. She deserves Zayn. She is as pretty as he is, so they will always look good when they go out, not that Zayn much likes going out, but Gigi will make him, which will be good, not like Harry, content to stay on the sofa watching movies, even MU movies, to bask in Zayn’s general glow.

“HARRY. What are you DOING.”

He realizes that he is standing in the hallway, mouth gaping unattractively, and follows Gigi into the main room.

She oohs and ahs over her photos. It’s quite gratifying, really, but she’s so photogenic that really all he had to do was point and shoot. Anyone could have done as much, but he accepts her praise and her promise of referrals, which he needs quite a lot, and then when he has finished a glass of wine and feels the slight boldness that being slightly tipsy brings, he clears his throat and begins.

“So. Gigi.”

“What is it, babe? What does my brilliant friend want to say to me, hmm?”

“It’s about Zayn. Like, he still loves you”--and he feels himself growing indignant when Gigi starts shaking her head--”Stop, Gig, he’s so unhappy, and whenever he speaks of you it’s in this admiring way like he sees you as above him….” Why is she laughing?

“HARRY. You are such a twat! Zayn isn’t still in love with me!”

“Yes, he is, I’m sure of it…”

“NO, he is NOT. And I know because we talk, we never stopped talking, and he’s in love with you. Why are boys so dumb, honestly!”

Harry finds himself gaping once again, unattractively he’s sure, as his brain attempts to process the words Gigi just said. Zayn, in love with him? Is it possible?

 

**Better Than Words**

Zayn and Harry haven’t talked for a week.

It’s not that they’re completely ignoring each other. Zany works at his songs--not managing to do much, if he’s honest--and Harry does more shoots, but at the end of the day, they always see each other at home.

They don’t actually talk, is the thing, and whenever they do, the conversation is strained and pointless.

Zayn hates it.

He’ll talk to Harry, he decides. Eventually. Or maybe he won’t. What is he supposed to say, after all? Haz, the truth is that I don’t even know if I’m gay, but I’m kinda gay for you. More than ‘kinda,’ actually. Right.

As often happens when Zayn is struggling with something, Gigi calls him. It’s like she has a sixth sense for Zayn in distress. “Hey, Gee,” he says answering his phone, “What’s up?”

Gigi sighs. “You’re stupid is what’s up.”

Zayn frowns. “You okay?”

“No, I’m not, because I spend most of my time wondering if you have a brain disease. I’d understand your poor choices better if that was the case.”

“Gigi, care to elaborate on what this is about? I’m kinda lost, babe,” Zayn replies. He’s starting to feel a bit upset. Why is it always Zayn’s fault, whatever happens?

Gigi sighs again, heavily, but her tone is kinder when she speaks. “Harry, Zee,” she says, “Can you _please_ tell me how exactly he gathered the info that you’re still in love with me?”

Zayn’s stomach churns a little at that. “ _What?”_ he hisses.

Gigi hums. “Yep. He thinks you still love me and the poor sod, as you’d call him, even tried to make me take you back or something. I’m not quite sure ‘cause I was too distracted by how fucking miserable he looked.”

Zayn’s head is spinning by that point. “And you’re telling me because…”

“Because he loves you!” Gigi exclaims, her squeaky tone drilling a hole in Zayn’s eardrum. “Listen Zayn, I know you like the back of my hand, and I understand you’re going through a major sexuality crisis ‘cause of Harry Styles, but I also know you _must_ have sorted yourself out by now, yeah? You need to _tell Harry._ ”

She almost growls. “Jesus Christ, you’re really too fit to also be the brightest crayon in the box, eh?”

“What do I even tell him?” Zayn sighs, releasing a breath he’s been holding since the words _he loves you_ left Gigi’s mouth. He doesn’t even care about Gigi basically calling him stupid, because God knows he really is. He plops on the bed after having opened the window of his bedroom, and against all roommate rules and codes, he lights a cigarette. He can’t bother about smoking inside the house right now.

“I dunno,” Gigi replies. “Just tell him. Being honest might do wonders for your relationship. Might even convince Harry not to behead you for smoking inside the house.”

Gigi is probably done scolding and lecturing Zayn--or making sure he doesn’t fuck up his whole life, more like--and hangs up the phone, leaving him to do what he does best.

Sulk, brood and overthink.

Zayn smokes another three cigarettes and manages to drive himself into a state in the meantime.

Is it really possible, that Harry’s in love with him?

There’s a part of Zayn that just _knows_ the way they behave with each other is not normal roommate etiquette, Harry’s palm-kissing and thumb-biting being the most relevant examples.

Still, Zayn doesn’t know how Harry really feels. Has he even been with other guys before? Is Zayn a simple crush, an experiment, _something new and fun_? Zayn’s not sure he can tolerate that.

A slamming of the front door tells him that Harry’s come back from whatever shoot he was doing, and Zayn can imagine him quite vividly, loose curls bouncing around his face, half-unbuttoned sheer shirt in bright colours, tight jeans, sunglasses perched on his head. His beloved camera slung on his right shoulder, one hand carefully cradling it to make sure it doesn’t swing too hard against the wall while Harry closes the door.

Zayn’s out of his room in a fraction of second, covering the distance between him and Harry with his still-bare feet, slipping over the linoleum, his heart racing for no apparent reason and all the reasons in the world.

“You’re _stupid_!” he screams at Harry as soon as they make eye contact.

Well. He didn’t exactly plan to say _that_.

Harry arches an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Zayn nods furiously. “You’re stupid, because if you’re in love with me, you should have just said so!”

Harry gently drops the camera on the couch and crosses his arms over his chest. Zayn keeps his eyes safely away from his biceps. “Bold of you to assume my feelings for you,” he says calmly.

Zayn chuckles nervously. “I didn’t. In fact, I thought I was the only one harbouring new homosexual feelings at the ripe old age of 28, but then Gigi told me, and trust me, I learned a shitton of time ago to believe every fucking thing that leaves her mouth.”

Harry stutters a little bit. “Y-You talked to Gigi about me?”

Zayn nods. “I didn’t plan to. She opened the subject. She’s kinda pissed at both of us for being stupid and in love,” he says, attempting a smile.

Harry’s eyes are big and lovely when he widens them to stare at Zayn. “Did you… did you just say _both of us_?”

“Yeah,” Zayn exhales. “You properly scrambled my brains, Harry Styles. I probably fell in love with you as soon as you moved in here and greeted me good morning with your perfect arse in those damn yellow shorts of yours.”

Harry goes bright red and laughs a bit nervously. “I… I thought you were straight.”

“I thought I was,” Zayn concedes. “And I thought you were too. The way you fucked Camille that last night didn’t exactly scream ‘he doesn’t like girls,’ to be honest.”

Harry’s cheeks go even redder. “You… you heard, then?”

“All of it. Made me come in my pants like a thirteen-year-old,” Zayn admits, his heart hammering its way out of his chest as Harry gets slowly closer.

“I did it like that for you,” Harry whispers. “Because I knew you would listen.”

“Thanks for the boner, then,” Zayn grins.

Harry snorts a laugh, and Zayn still can’t really believe it when they kiss.

It’s different than kissing a woman, is his first thought. Harry’s lips are not as smooth or soft as Gigi’s, because they’re slightly chapped, and most importantly, they’re a man’s lips. Zayn thinks they’re firmer, rougher, and they taste like fucking heaven.

Harry sighs a little on Zayn’s mouth, his hands going to cradle Zayn’s jaw, and Zayn parts his lips to grant Harry more access. Harry obliges happily, sliding his tongue inside Zayn’s mouth, licking at the roof of it, smooth and sweet and hot.

It’s slow, but only for a moment. The next, Zayn’s hands are fidgeting with the only two closed buttons of Harry’s shirt, and Harry is tugging at Zayn’s waistband in return, their mouths never leaving each other, pushing and pulling.

“Your bedroom,” Harry pants. “We need a real bed right the fuck now.”

Zayn nods frantically. “What do you want, Harry?”

Harry starts for a moment, interrupting the kiss and staring at Zayn with a small frown, like he hadn’t exactly thought this out this far. Then Harry takes a deep breath and nods. “I want you to fuck me” he says, sternly, like he’s bracing himself already.

Zayn smiles, a bit overwhelmed by Harry’s brash honesty. He kisses him again, and then sighs, leaning his forehead against Harry’s. “Are you sure, Haz? We don’t need to do it right now. We’ve waited this long, we can wait a bit more.”

Harry shakes his head. “I’m gonna die if you don’t fuck me in the next three seconds.”

Zayn laughs and pulls Harry towards his room, where they fall on the bed in a heap, clothes being removed hastily and mouths exploring each other’s bodies.

At last, they’re naked, with Zayn on top. He’s not quite sure what to do, and Harry doesn’t seem better off. But, like two teenagers in love, what they lack in experience they make up for in eagerness.

“Lube and condom,” Harry whispers, kissing Zayn in between words.

Zayn nods, and almost tears his drawer off its hinges in his haste to retrieve what they need.

Zayn knows this part, he thinks, as he crouches between Harry’s legs, fingers covered in lube. Harry’s lightly shaking, his cock hard and already leaking, hands twisted in the sheets and chest flushed.

Zayn circles one finger around Harry’s rim, and Harry’s whole body jolts in surprise and anticipation. Zayn shushes him, kissing his hip. “Don’t worry, babe,” he murmurs, “I’ll make this good, I promise.”

Harry smiles. “I know,” he answers.

Zayn slides one finger inside Harry’s hole, and he already can’t believe how tight he is. Harry seems to be doing pretty good, if his moans and pants are anything to go by.

It’s when Zayn’s finger has eased itself in up to the knuckle that Harry starts to whimper a little, and Zayn thinks quickly about something to ease him a bit. He kisses Harry’s hip again, and then, without warning, takes him in his mouth.

Harry groans loudly, and he’d flagged a little, but it takes Zayn not even three full seconds to bring him to hardness again. It’s weird, having a dick in his mouth, but it’s not unpleasant. He tentatively bobs his head up and down Harry’s length, not halting the movement of his fingers, and Harry lets out a sinful moan. “Fuck, Zayn,” he gasps “I can’t believe we’ve never done this before, so long, it’s so good, fuck fuck fuck, please.”

Zayn moves his finger in and out of Harry’s hole, loving the way he can feel Harry clutch around it. Harry’s back arches off the mattress when Zayn’s finger brushes his prostate for the second time, and Zayn grins, licks up and down Harry’s cock, and crooks his fingers again.

Harry moans. “Zayn, stop, stop, I’m gonna come,” he whines “I want you to fuck me, now. For real. Right now,” he demands.

Zayn nods, and slowly takes his finger out, and lets Harry’s dick go with a _pop_.

Harry wraps his legs around Zayn’s waist, and Zayn kisses him, both of them nodding and sweating and panting.

 

**One Thing**

Harry wakes to stickiness on his belly and Zayn drooling sexily on his shoulder. The night before they had been so exhausted by the amazing sex that didn’t even feel like the first time with someone that both had mumbled something about cleaning up later before they fell fast asleep.

Harry turns his head to Zayn, whose mouth is open, plump bottom lip looking ripe and inviting, as he snores faintly, making Harry’s heart expand in a general sort of _fondness_ for the beautiful man who watches rom coms with him and who confides in his model ex-girlfriend about his feelings. He’s so lovable, isn’t he. No wonder Harry loves him.

Harry looks away and up at the ceiling, thinking that life is funny. He just needed a room to rent, and a proper kitchen, but instead he got his first proper boyfriend, his first proper fashion photography job, with more already scheduled, and a proper bit of happiness for himself. It’s the happiest he’s been since leaving school.

He wonders if he should wake Zayn up with a blow job or a cup of tea, and he wonders what time it is. Zayn is never up before ten, and it appears to be raining outside, making it hard to tell if it’s late enough. He experiments by lightly kissing Zayn on first one eyelid and the other, admiring as he always does the thick velvet of his eyelashes. Zayn doesn’t stir, and so Harry risks a light bite to his plump lower lip. That makes him inhale sharply and frown.

“Babe?” Harry says softly. “Are you awake, babe?”

“I am now, Haz,” Zayn mutters, fake grouchy. “Why are you awake so early?”

“I dunno, babe. It’s the sight of you. You’re so pretty snoring. I can’t resist you.”

Zayn swats at him before turning away with a command, “Spoon me, babe. Go back to sleep for a bit.”

Harry moves into position, places an arm over Zayn’s taut stomach and his chin over Zayn’s colorful shoulder, his morning erection nestling into the gap obligingly provided by Zayn’s thighs. Harry likes being little spoon, but he doesn’t care if it’s Zayn he’s spooning with.

As he lets himself drift back into his dreams, he hears Zayn whisper, “Love you, Harry.”

Harry brings his mouth to Zayn’s ear. “I love you too, babe. I can’t wait to show you how much.”

 

**Even Louis Is Happy, Finally**

“Ugh, you two are right disgusting! I won’t go out with you any more if you can’t remember how to act in front of normal folks who aren’t madly in love.” He rolls his eyes, pretending to be offended.

“Oh, Lou, you love it. You think it’s all your doing that we’re together!” Harry laughs and cuffs him on the arm.

“Ow! And now you’re abusing me! Although it’s true enough, innit, that you two would never have even met if I hadn’t seen the _potential_ in a--what should we call it?--partnership between you?"

He looks smug, glancing between Harry and Zayn with satisfaction at their obvious good spirits.

It’s been eighteen months, and this is the longest that either Zayn or Harry has lasted in a relationship. Harry’s friend Niall says it’s because he was gay and he had to learn to do the gay things, of course he never made it long with a girl, but Harry thinks it’s just because Zayn is perfect.

“Oy! Where’s your brain, Haz? I just said it’s your turn to buy a round!”

Harry obliges, because he now has developed expensive and fancy portfolios for all of Gigi’s friends, and it turns out she has lots of them, and he’s in talks with a fashion house to work for them freelance and to photograph their line at Paris Fashion Week. It really is all because of Louis.

“I’ll come with you, babe,” Zayn says, smiling up at Harry. He has filled out a bit from Harry’s regular cooking, and happiness agrees with him, too. Their friends tease them constantly, but they can all see how good they are together.

They are standing at the bar of their crowded neighborhood pub, waiting for Liam, their bartender and friend, to have time to come take their order.

“Babe?” Zayn says in Harry’s ear.

“Yeah, love?” Harry replies. They really are disgusting. No wonder Louis gets mad at them.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you about something, and every time I try to do it at home I chicken out,” Zayn hedges.

“Well, ask me now, sexy,” Harry smiles, nuzzling at Zayn’s neck.

“Stop! Or, um, don’t stop, but let me ask the thing. It’s, well. Here’s the thing, Haz. I’ve been happier in the last eighteen months than I’ve ever been in my life, and even though I did sell another hit song it’s not money. It’s you, Harry. I love you, and well, since I love you--”

“Yes,” Harry says, beaming.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say!”

“Of course I do, Zayn, and of course the answer is yes. Did you buy me a ring?”

“It’s at home. How did you know? You always know everything. You’re so perfect, Harry, I can’t believe you said yes. I’ll give it to you later. I’ll go down on a knee, do it right….” Zayn is babbling, which is something he doesn’t do.

“Don’t be a twat, Zayn. I’m going to tell Louis.”

Harry skips back to the booth, and a second later, Louis’s whoop can be heard over the dull roar of inebriated pub voices on Friday night. “I KNEW IT! CONGRATS, HARRY! I’LL BUY THE DRINKS!”

He waves at Zayn, and so Zayn waves at Liam to come over to the booth, and then he does something strange and unusual for Zayn Malik. He skips back to the booth where his soon-to-be husband and friend are waiting.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This is a first try at co-authoring by FromFanToStan and dunklenacht310. It's been fun, and we're gonna keep going!  
> Let us know what you're thinking :)


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